Heads and Hearts
by Jennifer Lynn Weston
Summary: Teague tells Jack the story behind the shrunken head. It isn't exactly what Jack expected. PG for OFC death, and references to... well, head-shrinking.


_'Pirates of the Caribbean' belongs to Disney_

_xxx_

Jack swallowed hard. "She looks great," he croaked.

Edward Teague grinned at his reaction. "I'd wager that, right up 'til this moment, you always thought I was speaking metaphorically when I said I still have yer Mum's head, eh?"

"I'd always hoped you were." Recovering from his minor shock, Sparrow sourly regarded the grisly trophy. "'Tis a rather harsh jest, Da."

His father twirled the head on it's cord. "Most of what I know of harsh jests I learned from this lass. Chakori had a wicked sense of humor. 'Once slipped a fresh-caught eel into my bunk, she did- I must've woken the whole ship with my hollerin'."

An old boyhood memory of Jack's stirred; marketplace rumors about snooty gentlemen finding dead fish tucked under their hatbands.

The senior Captain was still sporting that smirk. "You'd not have been acquainted with it- she'd never put such a scare into a whelp. If you'd known her when you were just a few years older, you'd have been shown far less mercy."

Sparrow felt a certain twinge of resentment. He'd always had the impression that his father (whatever his other failings) did hold Mum's memory in some high regard. "I suppose you did this in retaliation? Getting in the inexorable and irrefutable Last Joke?"

Teague's expression sobered, as he lowered the shrunken head to knee-level. "That wasn't meant a joke at all, Jackie. But, 'tis a lengthy tale, and you've got a ship to make ready."

The _Black Pearl's_ captain pursed his lips, picturing himself and Barbossa engaged in another of their on-deck dominance squabbles. "It'll likely go faster if I steer clear fer a while." He nodded his head towards Hector, presently haranguing Pintel at the other end of the meeting room. "That rotter does know how to gird a ship for battle."

"Petrov can put the _Star_ to rights, too. Well, since we've both got the time..." Teague hefted his guitar and exited down the same passage he'd appeared through, gesturing for his son to follow.

Jack recognized the cramped, smoke-scented chamber immediately upon entering. The last time he and Da had talked here, Jack had left with a small coin and a weighty title.

Sparrow took a seat at the shin-high mosaic table. Teague did the same, carefully placing the gray-tufted head on the table's middle square. Two gilt-edged glasses were quickly produced and filled from a dark bottle.

Jack avoided looking at the grotesque centerpiece, as he gave his glass a careful sniff. Port, as expected. One of several aristocratic affectations Teague chose to retain.

The older man wasted no time on preamble. "Have you ever been to the northeast coast of Brazil, Jackie?"

Sparrow blinked. "I've had occasion to sail past it. Never made landfall."

"'Just as well that you haven't- it's a risky venture. Those jungles are full of savages who don't take kindly to visitors. You're liable to get a poison dart in your neck before you even know they're about.

"But there is one spot where the Brethren have struck an accord with the locals; an unnamed inlet, so small you'd most likely miss if you didn't know exactly where to look. The procedure is, we leave a useful item on the wide sand shore just north of the mouth- a blanket, kettle, hand-ax. If the item disappears overnight, that signals permission to come ashore, to restock water or gather some of those delectable river turtles. No one bothers us so long as we don't venture more then a few steps under the trees. These are admirably savvy people. They'd rather nobody learned the location of their settlements, and they certainly don't want any outsiders getting a look at their women.

"More often than not, some of the tribesmen will come to us with things to trade. Jaguar teeth, live parrots, fresh haunches of monkey. They're rather striking gents; on the short side, but well muscled, with glossy black hair. Ochre-red all over. We know that because they usually wear nothing but belts and trophy necklaces. Rumor has it they're merciless to anyone who crosses them, but all my encounters were without really serious incident... Do you recall my rather eccentric crewman, 'Scholar' Sanchez?"

Jack nodded. "The stocky bloke who usually had a pen an' bit of paper on hand, to jot down sketches an' notes about all encountered flora an' fauna. And who'd later copy 'em into ledger books." The younger man thoughtfully stroked his beard. "I've always wondered how the likes o' him came to be on a pirate crew."

"That's a tale unto itself, better left for another time. Scholar took every opportunity to study the language and ways of this tribe, for it was probable no other European ever did so before him. His counterpart among the natives was Kua-Ko; a lean, serious-eyed fellow, older than most. Kua-Ko always wore a green feather headdress denoting authority- maybe a chieftain, or a designated negotiator. I have no idea where he learned it, but he had some command of both English and Portuguese. Between him and Scholar, our two groups usually communicated as well as needed.

"There was one occasion when we came close to having bloodshed. My boatswain noticed a shrunken head, hanging from a tribesman's belt, and mimed he wanted to trade for it. The tribesman was so affronted it almost came to blows, before Scholar and Kua-Ko managed to sort things out. 'Seems that head was the man's own older brother- a precious memorial, not for sale at any price.

"As you've probably heard, most of the New World tribes that practice head-shrinking do so to acquire war trophies. But this lot takes a different view of the matter. They believe preserving the head does a special favor for the deceased- supposedly it provides a kind of porthole for the dearly departed to look back into the land of the living. Consequently, these folks never shrink the heads of enemies, or even strangers. It's an honor reserved strictly for their loved ones.

"Scholar related all this to me, after extensive conversation with the natives. I just passed the summary on to my crew: whilst here, don't try to barter for any human parts." Teague paused, carefully sipping from his glass. His way of indicating the story was about to take a different tack.

"When I took your mother from London on her last cruise, I hoped I'd be able to give her a last look at India, or at least Madagascar. But it soon became clear she'd not last that long. At least she had time to make a final request of me, to take her corpse ashore and burn it following the Hindu custom. Scattering the ashes into the Ganges River is considered the best disposal, but Chakori decided she preferred the ocean, since that's where I intend to finish up. As the _Star_ was nearest to the Brazilian coast when your Mum started fading, I set course for our hidden inlet. She, didn't quite live to see it."

Another pause, as Teague downed a sizable gulp of port. Jack, having long since finished his own ration, mournfully dropped his eyes.

"We offered the usual bribe, and, once it was accepted, brought Chakori onto the beach for cremation. We stowed the body under a canvas in the longboat while we set about gathering and arranging wood. Late in the afternoon, the usual group of natives showed up. Of course they wanted to know why we were preparing such a massive bonfire. When Scholar explained, the tribesmen became all somber and sympathetic- much more so than you'd expect of savages.

"Kua-Ko approached me, polite as could be, and asked whether I'd like his people to pay their customary homage to my dead wife. I was rather deep in my cups at the time, not thinking particularly sharp- I thought they were offering to perform a chant or sacrifice a goat. So I told 'em to go ahead. I didn't even bother to look as they made their way to the longboat.

"But certain of my crew saw what happened. Those blighters took out a hand-ax, struck her head off, and hurried back into the forest with it. Did it so quick and neat, none of my men recovered their wits in time to interfere. Then they figured, the damage was already done so no point in informing me. Not when I'd likely go tearing off after the tribesmen and provoke some kind of bloody altercation- maybe get us all massacred. Instead they coaxed a significant additional quantity of intoxicating beverage into me, before they finally made report. By then I was in no state to really care. My lovely Chakori was about to be reduced to ashes anyway- what did it matter if it wasn't quite all of her?

"We lit the fire at sunset. My crew spent all night burning the body, and next day I scattered the ashes into the surf, just as Chakori wanted. We were obliged to stay a couple days more, to make a few repairs that were better tended to. Nothing more was seen of the natives until the fourth day.

"We were just loading the last water casts into a longboat, when out of the woods came this serious little delegation with Kua-Ko at the front. He walked right up to me, bold as anything, and extended both hands. Offering me Chakori's head, just as you see it." Teague gazed over his glass at the referred-to object. "His manner forced me to rethink the situation, because no churchman presenting a holy relic to the Pope could've done it with any more respect.

"Seeing my ambivalence, Kua-Ko assured me, through Scholar, that the preparators had been especially careful. Being the equivalent of a Chieftain's wife, Chakori had been shown every possible consideration." Teague delicately touched the bone bits sewn around the mouth. "These are slivers from the skull, intended to ward off any evil beings seeking to distort the departed's view... to grieve her with false images of family misfortunes. When Chakori looks through this, she'll never see anything but actual happenings, Kua-Ko tells me." Teague's mouth quirked ruefully. "There's been occasions since, when I've wondered if that's an altogether good thing. But at least I can be sure she was never bored."

Teague lifted the head by it's hanging string, extended it to Jack. "I've been thinking lately: after checking out my doings for two decades, perhaps it's time she had a chance to keep watch on her son instead."

Jack hesitated. This narrative had altered his view of the head- it no longer excited any alarm or disgust. But even so...

"Do ya not think it might be a terrible disappointment to see I've become a pirate too? I've always considered it something of a mercy on her, that she died before that happened. All her efforts on my behalf, years of educatin' me to rise to respectable society... out the scuppers like so much bilge."

The graveled voice was unusually gentle. "Not all her efforts, Jackie. Certainly she'd not be happy that circumstances have forced ya into piracy, as they did to me. But she'd be glad to know you at least didn't turn into a vicious reprobate. Like Ned Lowe, for one." For a second, Teague frowned fiercely. His expression softened again, as he ran a careful finger over the nimbus of gray hair. "And that was largely due to her influence, wasn't it?"

Jack studied the furrowed face once more. Distorted though it was, he could detect some traces of the woman he'd known. Her wearied, but unbroken, spirit. Her sadly marred beauty. Her loving nature, which somehow survived every hardship, setting an example that had marked her son as indelibly as any branding iron.

"Aye. That it was."

Captain Sparrow took the offered head. His Da nodded with satisfaction, then hearkened to the distant chiming of a signal bell. "I'd say it's time for us both to get to our ships." Teague set down his gilded glass and strode from the room. The man had never been one to linger over ceremony.

Jack remained a minute longer, thoughtfully turning his acquisition over in his hands. Finally he stood, looping the cord around his belt to fasten it snugly. He smiled slyly down at the new embellishment.

"'Tis apt. Tomorrow I intend ta take full repayment from them what stole the life you wanted for me, Mum. It'll be fittin' fer you to be theer ta witness it."

Jack exited the chamber, every bit as purposefully as Teague. The final phase of his scheme was nigh, and he always did better with an audience.

xxx

**FINIS**


End file.
